Tonight there was an empty seat beside me in the theatre. 48 years ago, Saskatoon Summer Players put on their first production, Oklahoma, at Walter Murray Collegiate. It was a beautiful, warm summer night like tonight and my husband to be and I attended that first production and many, many productions since. Tonight he wasn't with me and I missed him. He would have enjoyed "The Producers", outrageous, totally politically incorrect, and hilarious.
I'm starting to remember the good times and forgetting the bad times. I think a lot about his sister, the one who caused so much damage to her mother, her siblings and us. She appeared to be without conscience or compassion. I once asked her older sister if she had always been that way and her sister answered, "Yes". She could be charming and destructive and her family permitted it.
My husband's sister's first husband had warned him before our marriage to look out for H... and B..., as they would cause trouble, which they did, not only for us but for the rest of the family. In another sense, his sister's efforts to break us made us vow that we would never let her see us separated, so through thick and thin, we stuck it out.
In the end, his sister's efforts to destroy us, led to successes in life that we would never have dreamed of before her campaign. It felt like living in a war zone, and it was, for a number of years. In the end, we built a good life together, developed many good friendships, raised a family we could be proud of and had many good times together, like the summer evenings attending musical performances. It ended up being a much better life than we might have had, had she not done the things she did.
We were blessed and protected. We had much to be thankful for , and I still do.
Friday, July 6, 2012
Friday, April 6, 2012
THE END
My husband died at 6:10 p.m. on April 6, 2012, Good Friday. He stopped by on his way out and so when the nursing home phoned 20 minutes later, I was not at all surprised.
It was himself as he had always been that stopped by just as we were ready to start supper and when he came by, I thought, we need to set a plate for him, and then he was gone. I asked my daughter twice if she had noticed anything but she hadn't.
Death is indeed a mystery and there is something beyond. Thank you, my friend, for stopping in.
It was himself as he had always been that stopped by just as we were ready to start supper and when he came by, I thought, we need to set a plate for him, and then he was gone. I asked my daughter twice if she had noticed anything but she hadn't.
Death is indeed a mystery and there is something beyond. Thank you, my friend, for stopping in.
Wednesday, April 4, 2012
Bonds of Love
Life is a miracle and death is a mystery. What keeps us alive after that first stirring of life brings a new and unique person into this world? This afternoon I received the phone call I had been expecting for some time. He may not make the night.
His breathing was very laboured when I was there this afternoon. I played old gospel hymns for him and he seemed to be content. When I was leaving, he seemed reluctant to see me go but life goes on. I don't want to be impatient for him to go but I know it's time.
What takes us from this life into something different? What's on the other side, or is there an "other side"? Sometimes we hear from the ones on the other side that it's time to join them and sometimes we hear nothing.
Go in peace, my beloved, and may the other side have everything for you that you ever hoped for and dreamed of. It's time for us to say our good-byes. We married till death do us part and we have kept our promises although it wasn't always easy. You've been a good life's partner in spite of the difficulties your family put in your way. I did learn to love you and I think you loved me too. Good night, my someone, good night forever.
His breathing was very laboured when I was there this afternoon. I played old gospel hymns for him and he seemed to be content. When I was leaving, he seemed reluctant to see me go but life goes on. I don't want to be impatient for him to go but I know it's time.
What takes us from this life into something different? What's on the other side, or is there an "other side"? Sometimes we hear from the ones on the other side that it's time to join them and sometimes we hear nothing.
Go in peace, my beloved, and may the other side have everything for you that you ever hoped for and dreamed of. It's time for us to say our good-byes. We married till death do us part and we have kept our promises although it wasn't always easy. You've been a good life's partner in spite of the difficulties your family put in your way. I did learn to love you and I think you loved me too. Good night, my someone, good night forever.
Sunday, April 1, 2012
Death Watch
We stand by his bedside and listen for each breath, each difficult breath assisted by the oxygen flowing into his lungs. Tuesday his breathing was difficult but no oxygen assist, Thursday they started antibiotics and he spent the day in bed. Friday he sat up for an hour but would have rather been in bed if he could have spoken. When all you can say is Yes, No, Bye and Hi, it's hard to communicate your wishes. Sometimes he opens his mouth to accept his pills in pudding and his Ensure drink, and sometimes he doesn't. The staff coax him to take his pills, to drink his drinks. We all know the end is coming but we don't know how soon. Saturday he was up in his chair but with the oxygen, which he has needed since Thursday. This is Sunday. The children have all been informed. His son brought a card from the family created by the children who haven't seen him since his birthday in August. His daughter will come this afternoon to see him. She is preparing a slide show for his memorial, whenever that may be, probably sooner than later. And so we wait, and wonder, and wait some more and wonder how the end will be and how soon. We are glad he survived the winter. Winter funerals are cold, and difficult. No funerals are good but summer is easier.
When his mother died, the whole family came from a distance and stood around her bedside for ten days. Then, everyone went home and she died, alone in her hospital bed while the staff were having their lunch.
We visited his sister in the hospital every day for almost a month. One night the hospital called to say she was dying and we sat by her bedside from 9 until midnight and then she fell asleep, holding her brother's hand. We went home and a week later, when the 4 a.m. rounds nurse checked on her, she was gone.
My mother decided it was time to go and stopped eating and drinking. After four days, she stopped talking and then fell into a restless coma. The family came to see her and sat with her, and then everyone went home. On a Sunday afternoon about four o'clock, she passed on. They laid a rose on her empty bed after Brian had taken her to the funeral home to be prepared for burial. He had been a Grade One student of hers and did a beautiful job of presenting her as beautiful and peaceful. She wore the dress I had sewed for her to wear to her grandson's wedding which she didn't attend. My friend chose the material for me.
And how will my husband's passing be? Will he also go alone? I brought daffodils yesterday; they should be open today. I brought a CD of a Welsh men's choir and one of a women's group. He seemed to enjoy the music. If there is time, I will get a CD of religious music, the songs that he grew up with for him to fall asleep to. I cannot sing him asleep; I have no voice for such a task. Others will have to do it for me.
When his mother died, the whole family came from a distance and stood around her bedside for ten days. Then, everyone went home and she died, alone in her hospital bed while the staff were having their lunch.
We visited his sister in the hospital every day for almost a month. One night the hospital called to say she was dying and we sat by her bedside from 9 until midnight and then she fell asleep, holding her brother's hand. We went home and a week later, when the 4 a.m. rounds nurse checked on her, she was gone.
My mother decided it was time to go and stopped eating and drinking. After four days, she stopped talking and then fell into a restless coma. The family came to see her and sat with her, and then everyone went home. On a Sunday afternoon about four o'clock, she passed on. They laid a rose on her empty bed after Brian had taken her to the funeral home to be prepared for burial. He had been a Grade One student of hers and did a beautiful job of presenting her as beautiful and peaceful. She wore the dress I had sewed for her to wear to her grandson's wedding which she didn't attend. My friend chose the material for me.
And how will my husband's passing be? Will he also go alone? I brought daffodils yesterday; they should be open today. I brought a CD of a Welsh men's choir and one of a women's group. He seemed to enjoy the music. If there is time, I will get a CD of religious music, the songs that he grew up with for him to fall asleep to. I cannot sing him asleep; I have no voice for such a task. Others will have to do it for me.
Monday, February 20, 2012
And Never the Twain Shall Meet
Why do we do the things we do? What overarching principle governs our behaviour? For me, I think relationships. "No man is an island", "I am a part of all that I have met", "Let me live in a house by the side of the road, and be a friend to man", all favourite sayings and ways of seeing life. Daughter, sister, friend, mother, wife, child of God, cousin, church member, volunteer, citizen - all are ways of relating to others and are important to me. I measure my success in life by my successful relationships and my failures by the relationships that failed. Not everyone puts priority on relationships. The church I belong to is first of all "Gemeinde", a group of like minded people who put relationship above personal interests. The community I live in puts relationship above individual interests. In the family, relationship counts for more than "doing it my way". As part of various groups, I am continually making compromises in order to preserve relationships. And that is a way of living that I find satisfactory. For my father, relationships were of primary importance and from him I probably learned this way of thinking.
Relationships were not of top priority for my mother. Preserving identity seemed to be most important to her. She seemed to have a fear of having her self-image swallowed up by others and was continually on the defensive, not a good way to build relationship.
My husband spent his life trying to assure himself of acceptance. Acceptance by his mother and siblings was never unqualified and so he went through life living an act, the act that he thought would make him acceptable to the ones who mattered most to him, his birth family, who alternated between acceptance and rejection. To the general public, he presented the image that others would smile on and would never refuse any request, no matter how inconvienient, in case that should lead to rejection. Intimacy is impossible when you're playing a role; the real you can never come out because it's not safe out there. That also interferes with relationship because relationship has to be based on trust, which has to be mutual. We never had the relationship I had hoped for when we first married.
Why did his mother do this to herself and to her children? Power seemed to be her dominating motivation. Feeling powerless to control the events of her life, she put all her energies into trying to control the people in her life. It was a very uneasy relationship between her and her children, who resented her for her controlling ways and felt guilty for that resentment because they understood her powerlessness. In turn, they turned their resentment against each other and tried to control their siblings, in particular, their youngest brother, my husband.
Where did their mother learn this behaviour? Was it from her mother? Her mother had a child before she married and married a man who was born illegimate, whose mother, also born illegitimate, died when he was fourteen. He brought up a family of thirteen children. What sort of life did they lead? His granddaughter said, as an old lady, " The Hannahs nae were a very sociable family". Was there love and acceptance in that home? My husband's mother left that physical environment behind her but brought the emotional environment with her and condemned herself to live with it to the end of her days. Now it lives on through her children and grandchildren. George Hannay, what did you do to Isobel Fairbairn almost two hundred years ago that the ripples should extend to the present day?
Relationships were not of top priority for my mother. Preserving identity seemed to be most important to her. She seemed to have a fear of having her self-image swallowed up by others and was continually on the defensive, not a good way to build relationship.
My husband spent his life trying to assure himself of acceptance. Acceptance by his mother and siblings was never unqualified and so he went through life living an act, the act that he thought would make him acceptable to the ones who mattered most to him, his birth family, who alternated between acceptance and rejection. To the general public, he presented the image that others would smile on and would never refuse any request, no matter how inconvienient, in case that should lead to rejection. Intimacy is impossible when you're playing a role; the real you can never come out because it's not safe out there. That also interferes with relationship because relationship has to be based on trust, which has to be mutual. We never had the relationship I had hoped for when we first married.
Why did his mother do this to herself and to her children? Power seemed to be her dominating motivation. Feeling powerless to control the events of her life, she put all her energies into trying to control the people in her life. It was a very uneasy relationship between her and her children, who resented her for her controlling ways and felt guilty for that resentment because they understood her powerlessness. In turn, they turned their resentment against each other and tried to control their siblings, in particular, their youngest brother, my husband.
Where did their mother learn this behaviour? Was it from her mother? Her mother had a child before she married and married a man who was born illegimate, whose mother, also born illegitimate, died when he was fourteen. He brought up a family of thirteen children. What sort of life did they lead? His granddaughter said, as an old lady, " The Hannahs nae were a very sociable family". Was there love and acceptance in that home? My husband's mother left that physical environment behind her but brought the emotional environment with her and condemned herself to live with it to the end of her days. Now it lives on through her children and grandchildren. George Hannay, what did you do to Isobel Fairbairn almost two hundred years ago that the ripples should extend to the present day?
Sunday, February 19, 2012
Deathwatch
Everyday, my husband grows weaker. That's an oxymoron. He's not growing, he's fading away. Yesterday he drank a glass of water and could say "hello". Today, he could hardly keep his eyes open and he just couldn't manage to get a sip of tea to come up through the straw. There just didn't seem to be enough energy to make the effort to suck on the straw. His middle daughter and her husband and daughter come every Sunday afternoon to see him but there is hardly any recognition of their presence. His granddaughter always used to bring a smile to his face, but no longer. There seems to be no joy left in his life.
Last month, his niece and her daughter flew in from Vancouver Island on the coldest day of the winter to see him. He managed to get out "nice to see you" and mustered some smiles for them. His sister, his only remaining sibling, sent him a letter after that visit, telling him how much she loved him. He acknowledged the letter with a weary look that seemed to say "too little, too late" but had not a single word of response. Since then, he has continued to slip. He drinks his energy drink, liked the Valentine flowers I brought him, and had a valentine chocolate, but then almost choked on the last of it. At the end of every visit, we think, this may be the last visit, and then we come again the next day and he's there, lying in his chair, eyes half closed, mouth half open, looking more dead than alive but still - with us, at least in body.
I have been reclaiming my identity. My identity as Mrs. is history, so who or what am I? I have my own apartment, not a house. It's furnished with bookcases, a computer desk and filing cabinet, bookcases, six of them, bedroom furniture, a kitchen table and chairs, and a loveseat and two easy chairs. There's a wooden chest for my quilts and a CD player for my music. The accordion and keyboard are waiting to be put to use again. The pictures on the walls are my favourites, mostly scenery, and my University certificates are no longer embarrassed to hang over the computer desk. The music in my CD stand is classical, folk songs and religious songs. I can play it any time I want. I sit up and read until 11 or 12 p.m., get up at 8 and go for exercises and no one laughs at me for exercising. I can express my opinions freely without hearing "that's what you think". The people I live with smile when they meet me and greet me in a friendly way, no one scowls or expects me to make way for them.
I go where I want to, when I want to, and no one asks why I go where I go and why I was so late getting back and why supper isn't ready yet. It's quiet here and sometimes it feels lonely, but mostly, it feels very peaceful.
Guilt and a lack of self esteem don't make for a happy person. My husband struggled all his life with the guilt of having contravened his mother's wishes by getting married and leaving her to live alone. Apparently, the family, even cousins, knew that he was not meant to marry but was to stay with his mother on the farm. No one, including my husband to be, shared that piece of information with me, and so it was as it was. Once the vows had been said, "for better or for worse, until death do us part", it was too late, although my husband's mother and some of his siblings made mighty efforts to try to drive me out of the marriage. My husband and I hardly knew each other when we got married but how can you desert someone whose own family is turning on them, seemingly without cause?
After his mother failed, at considerable financial cost to herself, to break up our marriage, we were left in peace. By ten years after our marriage, she was again speaking to her son, although she never did condescend to speak to me, the villainess who had led her son astray. So we all have roles to play in life and mine was cast for me, forty-six years ago.
Now I choose my own. I am me, the me that I like and choose to be. Hallelujah!
Last month, his niece and her daughter flew in from Vancouver Island on the coldest day of the winter to see him. He managed to get out "nice to see you" and mustered some smiles for them. His sister, his only remaining sibling, sent him a letter after that visit, telling him how much she loved him. He acknowledged the letter with a weary look that seemed to say "too little, too late" but had not a single word of response. Since then, he has continued to slip. He drinks his energy drink, liked the Valentine flowers I brought him, and had a valentine chocolate, but then almost choked on the last of it. At the end of every visit, we think, this may be the last visit, and then we come again the next day and he's there, lying in his chair, eyes half closed, mouth half open, looking more dead than alive but still - with us, at least in body.
I have been reclaiming my identity. My identity as Mrs. is history, so who or what am I? I have my own apartment, not a house. It's furnished with bookcases, a computer desk and filing cabinet, bookcases, six of them, bedroom furniture, a kitchen table and chairs, and a loveseat and two easy chairs. There's a wooden chest for my quilts and a CD player for my music. The accordion and keyboard are waiting to be put to use again. The pictures on the walls are my favourites, mostly scenery, and my University certificates are no longer embarrassed to hang over the computer desk. The music in my CD stand is classical, folk songs and religious songs. I can play it any time I want. I sit up and read until 11 or 12 p.m., get up at 8 and go for exercises and no one laughs at me for exercising. I can express my opinions freely without hearing "that's what you think". The people I live with smile when they meet me and greet me in a friendly way, no one scowls or expects me to make way for them.
I go where I want to, when I want to, and no one asks why I go where I go and why I was so late getting back and why supper isn't ready yet. It's quiet here and sometimes it feels lonely, but mostly, it feels very peaceful.
Guilt and a lack of self esteem don't make for a happy person. My husband struggled all his life with the guilt of having contravened his mother's wishes by getting married and leaving her to live alone. Apparently, the family, even cousins, knew that he was not meant to marry but was to stay with his mother on the farm. No one, including my husband to be, shared that piece of information with me, and so it was as it was. Once the vows had been said, "for better or for worse, until death do us part", it was too late, although my husband's mother and some of his siblings made mighty efforts to try to drive me out of the marriage. My husband and I hardly knew each other when we got married but how can you desert someone whose own family is turning on them, seemingly without cause?
After his mother failed, at considerable financial cost to herself, to break up our marriage, we were left in peace. By ten years after our marriage, she was again speaking to her son, although she never did condescend to speak to me, the villainess who had led her son astray. So we all have roles to play in life and mine was cast for me, forty-six years ago.
Now I choose my own. I am me, the me that I like and choose to be. Hallelujah!
Friday, December 16, 2011
Waiting!
Fifty years ago this Christmas I was waiting; waiting for the new life that I had just learned was growing within me. And it was a death; a death for me and for everything I had known all my life, everything that mattered most to me and for any hopes and dreams I might have had for the future. The future looked dark indeed and without hope.
The man who was responsible for shattering my life had given me a German record as a Christmas gift. It was German folk music I was interested in; he gave me 'Weltschmerz' by Mahler; very appropriate and I've never been able to stomach Mahler since. Yesterday I listened to a trumpet player, my granddaughter's band teacher, play a Mahler piece at a noon hour concert in a beautiful old church with a pipe organ and marvelous stained glass windows. Mahler, he said, was one of his favourite composers. Maybe it's time to lay aside old prejudices and try again.
And this Christmas, I wait again. This time, I am waiting for death, and a future that promises a new life. My husband of more than 46 years is slowly slipping away from us. He hardly recognizes or acknowledges us anymore, has become a shadow of himself, and is tired unto death. When that long sleep comes that will give him rest, we will miss him but we are ready to let him go. Perhaps on the other side, there's a new life for him too. We hope so.
Fifty years is a long time to put your life on hold. I wanted to write, travel, meet people, have new experiences, sing, dance, enjoy life and spend many relaxed hours with friends, laughing and visiting. My husband's people didn't laugh very much and seemed to be suspicious of those who did. So be it. There are just the two of them left now who don't and won't talk to each other. The choices we make when we're young, haunt us when we're old.
My journey through life was not one I would have chosen, but the place at which I have arrived pleases me. I am glad to find myself where I am and who I am. What more can anyone hope for?
The man who was responsible for shattering my life had given me a German record as a Christmas gift. It was German folk music I was interested in; he gave me 'Weltschmerz' by Mahler; very appropriate and I've never been able to stomach Mahler since. Yesterday I listened to a trumpet player, my granddaughter's band teacher, play a Mahler piece at a noon hour concert in a beautiful old church with a pipe organ and marvelous stained glass windows. Mahler, he said, was one of his favourite composers. Maybe it's time to lay aside old prejudices and try again.
And this Christmas, I wait again. This time, I am waiting for death, and a future that promises a new life. My husband of more than 46 years is slowly slipping away from us. He hardly recognizes or acknowledges us anymore, has become a shadow of himself, and is tired unto death. When that long sleep comes that will give him rest, we will miss him but we are ready to let him go. Perhaps on the other side, there's a new life for him too. We hope so.
Fifty years is a long time to put your life on hold. I wanted to write, travel, meet people, have new experiences, sing, dance, enjoy life and spend many relaxed hours with friends, laughing and visiting. My husband's people didn't laugh very much and seemed to be suspicious of those who did. So be it. There are just the two of them left now who don't and won't talk to each other. The choices we make when we're young, haunt us when we're old.
My journey through life was not one I would have chosen, but the place at which I have arrived pleases me. I am glad to find myself where I am and who I am. What more can anyone hope for?
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